The Mostly Inner Monologues of Preston Burke
by irrevocably ives
Summary: "If I really loved her, I would let her go. If I really loved her, I would let her go." It had been my inner mantra for days now, possibly even weeks. Except now, it is too late.


**Shondra Rhimes owns Grey's Anatomy, not me otherwise Isaiah Washington would still be on the show! And thanks to my beta, DeathByMushrooms. If it weren't for her fixing my mistakes, this one-shot wouldn't be half of what it is now!**

The Mostly Inner Monologues of Preston Burke

_If I really loved her, I would let her go. If I really loved her, I would let her go. _It had been my inner mantra for days now, possibly even weeks. Except now, it is too late.

I was not fighting off the horrid thoughts any longer; the thoughts Mama had planted in my head. Those thoughts had grown and spread like an aggressive cancer, but no matter how many times she assured me that she wanted this, I could not shake the vomit-inducing thoughts; the thoughts of leaving her; the thoughts of waiting. I, Preston Burke, had seen the way Cristina's coppery eyes had been pleading with me to take back those words, but I just could not—until now, when it was too late. I had made her choose, between her career or me. Inadvertently, she had chosen wrong. Cristina Yang: bright intern, aspiring cardiothoracic surgeon had picked me; our relationship. It was wrong, all wrong, and subconsciously I knew it. Deep down, I knew that if I gave Cristina the ultimatum repeatedly, she would choose me over and over again until finally, at last choosing her career; her passion for saving lives, for the thrill of opening a patient up and fixing them was only a far off fairytale.

Normally—if I was a normal man and if Cristina were a normal woman—I would be elated, _we_ would be elated. We are not normal, though. We are able to save lives; we are surgeons. Cristina Yang cannot give up her future because of me, because she could eventually be happy. It is wrong, it is masochistic, it is… planning a future with someone who will become a shell of a person.

Through Cristina's silent begging, I kept pushing; kept asking questions; kept begging for my dream wedding; for _my_ dream future. This is how I ended up standing here; in a cathedral Cristina did not want, in a tuxedo she did not want me wearing, waiting for her to walk towards me in the dress she could not stand.

In a moment, I am telling Derek Shepherd, my best man, that I will handle everything. In a second, I am throwing open the back doors to the cathedral. I see Cristina in the striking white dress that she detested, but our mothers had insisted on. Looking into her alarmed eyes, I finally see what everyone else must have seen all along. For an instant, I almost acquiesce to her assurances of "I'm ready," but in the end, it is only for an instant that I can allow myself to consider it.

Sadly shaking my head, I cannot believe her. I cannot do this to Cristina Yang. She needs her navy scrubs and my conscience cannot handle being the person who takes that away from her. Maybe she can fool herself into thinking that she does not need them to be happy, but she does and I cannot handle ending her life's work for my own selfish reasons. Without them, Cristina Yang, my lover; my true love would end up resenting me and that pales in comparison to not having her. _She is Cristina Yang: bright intern; aspiring cardiothoracic surgeon; the light of my world,_ I thought silently to myself. _I have to let her go._ The words stung and cut me deep, but I knew it was for the best.

Letting these thoughts linger in my head for a few minutes, I finally look down into her glassy eyes and tell her that I cannot do this. My eyes connect with hers for a moment longer than necessary, trying to convey why I am doing this; however, I know it is a lost cause. Cristina, the strongest person I know, is breaking before me and I cannot watch her cry over someone as pathetic and cowardly as me.

Looking back one last time, I see Cristina, with tears pouring down her cheeks and looking at me longingly. I know that I do not deserve her tears, and her anguish makes me consider going back. But I do not; I cannot. The pain is already too much and tears rush to my eyes. My heart is breaking by my own hand.

Knowing this, I push open the ornate wooden doors, which lead me out onto the street, and before I know what I'm doing, I am running away from the church. I am running towards nothing and the tears are hitting the pavement. To anyone I pass I must appear to be a mental patient, but I do not care. I do not care about anything anymore. Except her. Always her, I am doing this _for_ her.

Finally, I make it back to _our_ apartment, though it feels different somehow. I realize that I cannot stay; Cristina will come back here looking for me. She will persuade me that we can stay together; try to compromise, but I cannot have that because then, I will truly cave. So, without packing clothes or mementos, I grab my trumpet and a picture of Cristina and I and I am running again.

As I board a train going to God-only-knows-where, I have but one thought running through my head on repeat, blocking everything else out: _Alabama sure is nice this time of year._

**The end!**

**I realize it has been a few seasons since Burke left… Okay, so more than a few, but who is keeping track anyway? Moving on, I just needed Burke to be painted in a little better light than he was on the show.**

**Thanks for reading, and drop me a review, please. Whether you love it or hate it, I would love to know! So click the pretty, little blue review button on the bottom and give me some feedback. **


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